Chapter Eleven
REESE
Staring at the roof vent above me, I lie in the darkness feigning sleep. The motorhome creaks as Tristen paces. His frustrated grumbles and sighs only add to my guilt.
Because he is right . . . I do like him. I wish I didn’t, but I do.
It’s difficult to wrap my brain around the truth, especially since I’ve spent so much time avoiding the attraction between us. But every time he touches me, I lose all sense of reason. Like a magnet, I keep coming back to him.
I like you. His confession pulses in my mind, refusing to be ignored.
My fingers rub the tiny spot on my neck as I remember the fiery touch from his lips. A sudden rush of adrenaline courses through me, a desire for something I shouldn’t want.
Tristen is Des’s best friend. I’m not supposed to have feelings for him—or him for me.
The man who’s been a staple in our lives for years.
Someone who’s always watched over me, even after I pushed him away.
To the point he threw himself into the middle of chaos to save my life, receiving bruises in my stead.
He deserves better than me. Like when certain chemicals mix, there are aspects of my life that combust on contact.
What if I ruin everything like I always do?
I like you. My heart rate spikes as I remember his words again.
But how do I trust myself when I have a terrible history of always wanting what I shouldn’t?
My poor choices nearly killed me last time.
Tristen might not see how this will end, but I do.
I know myself. I’m moody and rash, with a stubborn streak that could make a grown man cry.
He’ll tire of me in days, a week max. I’d be walking on eggshells not knowing when I’m one epic screwup away from him leaving me.
And the aftermath of his departure would carve a crater-sized hole in my chest.
I’m not sure if I could survive another detox.
Bundling my trembling fingers under my chin, I fight through my anxiety. My craving from before may have lessened but it never truly disappears. It hovers over my shoulder like a demon I’m so weary of wrestling. The convincing promises whisper in my ear.
One drink can calm my nerves.
One drink can ease the tension between Tristen and me.
One drink can make all these cravings finally disappear.
But another voice rings inside of me, true and clear.
One drink could ruin everything.
I roll onto my side with an angry flop, resisting the evil promises. Not one drink, not one drop. Closing my eyes, I imagine something soothing to reroute my thoughts.
I’m not surprised when Tristen’s face appears, oddly foggy and distorted, even though I sense him through the haze. A recurring memory from the night Burns attacked me that sometimes floats back to the surface of my mind. For the first time, he speaks, sounding exactly like Austin.
“I got you, Reese, and I’m not letting go.”
Even if it’s my imagination filling in the blanks, I don’t care. I cling to the statement, wrapping its comfort around me until my body relaxes and the trembling stops. But it’s not enough.
Pulling out my phone, I press play on the audiobook again and skip to Austin’s chapter.
I sink into the pillow and let his voice transport me into the book world, the characters walking hand in hand down the street.
Austin is no longer a faceless man, but Tristen with his shaggy black hair and trim beard, looking down at me as if I were his Annie.
With a contented sigh, I listen until sleep comes to claim me.
Two solid knocks bang on the door and send me catapulting out of bed. Another whack sounds from inside the camper, followed by Tristen’s moan.
Barefoot, I rush into the other room only to find him grumbling in his bed, his hair disheveled from sleep.
I place a hand on my heart, hoping to steady its wild beats.
From the kitchen window, I spot Gary holding two disposable coffee cups.
I duck out of view, confused. Had something gone wrong with our payment? Or had he forgotten something?
“Um . . . it’s Gary.”
“Why the heck is he banging on our door at seven a.m.?” Tristen growls. He hops down from the overhead bunk, the dishes rattling in the cabinet from his landing. “And where are your pants? You’re not answering the door like that.”
Rolling my eyes, I lift the hem of my Cliffys t-shirt to reveal my running shorts. “Calm down, Dad.”
Like a bear rousing from hibernation, he stalks closer to me. His eyes darken to a midnight blue, unblinking. I bump into the sink behind me as he slaps his palms on either side of the counter, trapping me in place.
“I’m not going to say this again. I’m not your brother. And I sure the heck am not your dad. The way I feel about you doesn’t reside anywhere near the family category.”
“It was a joke, Tristen,” I whisper, suddenly breathless at his nearness.
“Excuse me if I don’t find it funny on three hours of sleep.”
He holds my gaze for a second and snarls when Gary knocks on the door again. He pulls me behind him and cracks open the door with a curt greeting.
“Morning, y’all. I’m mighty surprised y’all ain’t up and packing by now.”
“Long night,” Tristen grumbles.
“I brought some parting gifts.”
Before I can accept my coffee, Tristen snatches them both with a quick word of thanks and shuts the door.
“Well, that was rude.”
“So is stopping by unannounced.”
Gary knocks on the door again, and I lift my brow at Tristen.
He cracks the door again. “Yeah?”
“Just wanted to offer up my assistance should y’all need help closing up the motorhome. It can be overwhelming the first time.” Gary eyes us nervously, sensing unspoken tension between us.
I pull the door from Tristen’s grip, swinging it wide. “That would be wonderful, Gary. Thank you. Let us get changed, and we’ll meet you outside.”
Step by step, Gary helps acquaint us with all the buttons on the main control panel and the proper way to have everything tucked away for the bumpy ride back to Rocosa.
I hit the switch to bring the slide-out inside, and what precious space we had disappears to a snug one-person walkway.
The awning is next, the electric gears grinding as it rolls back inward.
But that’s just for the interior. There’s still all the hoses and cables outside, not to mention the water tanks we have to empty from the shower and toilet.
I’m suddenly doubting Gary’s definition of “simple.”
While he teaches Tristen how not to drench himself in sewage water, I grab the spare parts and jack from my suitcase.
I crank up one side of the motorhome, remove the tires, and add the new shocks before repeating everything on the other side.
It’s a good thing I took the bus because the replacement parts were eating up what little money I had saved.
Tristen offers me a hand, which I reluctantly take, and he helps me onto my feet.
“All fixed on my end. I didn’t want to be bouncing down the road,” I say, dusting the dirt from my overalls. A strange black smudge marks my thigh, smearing at my touch.
“Fixed it already? I might have to sign up the missus for some mechanic classes so she can help out around here too.” Gary leans his head back and laughs. “Wouldn’t that be a hoot?”
“Yeah, so funny,” I deadpan. If I had a penny for every comment I get about the oddity of being a female mechanic, I’d be a billionaire. “Anywho, is there anything else we need to check off our list?”
Tristen surveys the campsite, shaking his head. “I think we’re good to go. Everything is tied down or locked up tight.”
“Remember, I wrote everything down on that paper. Y’all only need to reverse for setup. Easy as pie.”
It takes a strong amount of willpower to not roll my eyes at that.
“Thanks again, Gary. We’re both very appreciative.” Tristen offers his hand, and the two of them shake like they’re old friends.
“It’s no trouble at all. I remember when me and the missus took our first camping trip.
Lots of lessons learned along the way. Marriage isn’t for the weak, am I right, my boy?
” He claps a confused Tristen on the back with a laugh and turns to me.
“I’m glad to know this camper is in good hands.
Now you and your husband have a safe drive back, and tell yer brother that I hope his wedding goes off without a hitch. ”
I blink, debating if it’s worth my time to correct him. Eh.
“Thanks, I will.”
Tristen’s head swivels toward mine, his eyes burning a hole in my head as I climb into the passenger seat without a comment.
He jumps into the driver’s seat and slams the door, nervously inspecting the dashboard.
The space between us fills with awkward silence.
We buckle our seat belts, the clicking noise ten times louder than I’ve ever heard it.
Turning the key, he frowns as the motorhome’s engine cranks, a loud chugging noise, but it doesn’t start.
I make a motion to unbuckle, but the engine catches on the third try, and the whole vehicle rumbles to life.
Smiling, Gary leans through the window. “Sometimes it takes a few tries. Part of the old-time charm. Now remember, this thing doesn’t turn on a dime. So take it nice and slow.” He pats my door twice with a big grin on his face. “Happy trails to y’all.”
I wave goodbye as Tristen creeps the RV out of its spot. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel as he navigates out of the campground and onto the highway.
“My wife, huh?” he asks out of the blue a few minutes later.
I’m unable to contain my smile, knowing he’s been stewing on it.
“It seemed easier to let it slide than try to explain our complicated love/hate relationship. We want to return to Rocosa before nightfall.”
He huffs. “Complicated isn’t a strong enough word.”
“Besides, I thought you’d love the upgrade from brother or dad. You’re welcome.”
His grip tightens on the wheel. “Not quite the ‘upgrade’ I had in mind, Reese’s Cup.”
Heat rises up my neck at the reminder. I like you.